


the warmest places

by Niki



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dancing, Insecurity, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:19:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/pseuds/Niki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I thought you didn't dance.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“For you, I'll try.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the warmest places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverminetohold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/gifts).



> Title from the Chant of Light
> 
> "O Maker, hear my cry:  
> Guide me through the blackest nights  
> Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked  
> Make me to rest in the warmest places."
> 
> Tranfigurations 12:1

“I thought you didn't dance.”

“For you, I'll try.”

It wouldn't be the first time, after all, when Mahanon Lavellan had made Cullen do things he never thought he would. Everything about him was an exception to him – a man, and elf, and most importantly, a mage, and an apostate at that. Not too long ago Cullen wouldn't have even seen any other feature than the magic in his blood, would have named him maleficar, and treated him accordingly. 

It scared him. What if they had met before? Would he have captured a rogue Dalish mage and forced him into a Circle? Or fought him to the death, never knowing the warmth of his gaze, his heart, his embrace?

And even if he had been open to the possibility, what future would there have been for a mage and a templar? Even if Mahanon had been a Harrowed enchanter in a Circle, even if Cullen hadn't sworn his commitment to a life of purity as a sign of devotion to his duties, no templar would ever get a permission to marry a mage, and any other kind of a relationship would have been punishable by tranquility if discovered. How could anyone make a person they love risk that? 

And now, as yet another exception he was considering breaking this final part of his life as a templar, his oath of chastity. He was no longer a part of the Order, no one could hold him accountable if he broke this final promise. 

If someone as perfect as the Inquisitor would even want his touch – Maker knew he'd lost any appeal he might have once had with the scars on his face and soul battered beyond recognition. But he wanted, of course he wanted, he wanted to feel the lighter body against his own, feel the flame of magic against his skin, warming all the places that had been frozen, wanted to hold and be held, to be shown all the things he had been missing. But what could he offer to a being as bright as the Herald of Andraste? 

Cullen had never seen anyone as beautiful as him. 'Beautiful' seemed like the appropriate appellation even though Mahanon was not in the least feminine – a wiry elf with the physique of someone who'd lived in the wilds all his life, with eyes too old for his years, and manners as courteous as any noble-born courtier. 

His beauty was not just in his form or manners, but in the kindness with which he treated everyone from the rudest Orlesian noble to the most wretched slave. It was in the respect he showed to the Andrastean faith despite it not being his own, the way he drew everyone out, so that even Cullen found himself opening up to him about his past, about the time in the Ferelden Circle that had made him distrust all mages for long years. 

It had been difficult to let that fear and distrust go but even more difficult now to imagine a time when he would have looked at the Inquisitor and only seen a mage, and not seen the beauty, courage, or faith he possessed. Hard to grasp that few short years ago he would have only seen an enemy where he now saw his future.

He felt safe turning his back on him, letting his guard down. He felt comfortable spending time with him, he felt protected when held, and hadn't that been a revelation. He felt safe trying things that would normally make him run for cover screaming. Like dancing. For Mahanon, he would attempt even this, no matter the fool he'd make of himself in the process.

And when Mahanon took his hand and allowed himself to be led to the centre of the balcony, he pulled him close, and tried to remember anything and everything he had ever learnt from dancing, from his family, from the other templars, from watching the mages, and nobles of Kirkwall, and here in Orlais. He didn't even attempt to replicate the more elaborate steps he'd seen Mahanon perform with the treacherous Grand Duchess earlier that evening, merely shuffling them around in slow circles.

It felt good just to hold the other man close. Where the wandering hands of the Orlesian nobles had left him feeling dirty and uncomfortable, Mahanon's touch was purifying as well as exciting. Naturally the Inquisitor was a better dancer – Josephine had spent endless hours training him in the Orlesian dances as preparation for the ball, and it showed, his graceful movements translating beautifully into music. Cullen was a little more than an amateur, but the feeling of being a clumsy teenager lasted only until Mahanon moved closer so that their bodies touched each other from chest to knee, and then he hardly cared what their feet were doing – he was holding and being held.

All traces of the tiredness were gone from Mahanon's face now, his smile shining and warm, and only for him. They could faintly hear the sounds of the others inside the ballroom, could imagine the gossip and plotting going on behind them, but for this one stolen moment they were removed from it all, eyes holding each others' just as hands were, and for this one moment Cullen lost his insecurity.

This man was in this moment just as much as he himself was, was just as committed, just as enamoured, and he would never mock him for his fears, or fail to hear his worries. After all, he had heard the worst Cullen had to confess about his feelings and reactions towards mages in the past and was still willing to touch him, hold him, look at him with kindness, even devotion. 

He stopped their slow turning to the faintly heard music, and raised one hand to Mahanon's face before lowering his head for a kiss. He loved kissing him, loved the little flames it produced, something he'd never experienced with another person, and knew with perfect clarity he wanted more, was ready for more, and wanted no one else to show him, to teach him, than this courageous, courteous, beautiful being.

Although, quite possibly, the balcony of the Winter Palace in Halamshiral was not the best possible place for it.


End file.
